Unfamiliar
by chandeluresinitaly
Summary: Roadhog doesn't need anyone. At least, that's what he thinks.


I've been over at AO3 a lot more often so I kinda forgot this site existed! But I'm gonna upload a few of my one-shots here still. Anyways, here's a gift fic I did awhile back.

* * *

He had been alone for two decades. Sure Roadhog would surround himself in the rowdy environment of a bar in Junkertown once in awhile, or be in the company of a gang to earn a few bucks, but he wasn't in the business to make any friends. He didn't need anyone; Roadhog came as he went, and took whatever he deemed as his property. The large fellow in a pig mask was intimidating to all and he liked it that way. Made him all the more desirable for hitman jobs, or really whatever type of violent act that put money in his hands. After he washed the blood and guts off of them, of course. An employer told him who to kill, he got his hands dirty, and he was able to pay for dinner and a decent motel room for the night. It was as simple as that.

But it all changed when _that_ guy came along.

It was supposed to be just another normal evening at a bar. Roadhog sat at a corner table, one with the least amount of lighting so he could fade into the background. It was these moments where he really didn't want to be disturbed, so he hid in near darkness to enjoy his beer in peace. Normally, people left him that way. Some of the patrons knew who he was and what he was capable of, so they kept to themselves and avoided a bloodbath. However, on this particular night, it seemed this one man was brave enough (or stupid enough) to approach him.

A pair of elbows landed on the other side of the table in Roadhog's line of sight, and he looked up from his stein to find himself face to face with someone almost as tall as he was. A man with patchy blond hair, no shirt and a wicked grin on his face stared back at him with his furrowed bushy brows and buggy eyes. He was leaning backwards against the table, and Roadhog noticed one of his elbows was actually connected to an orange prosthetic arm. A quick glance downwards, and another orange prosthetic (a peg leg) was located on the same side. His visitor didn't wait for him to speak, and piped up a conversation.

"Oi, what's a big lug like you doin' in a place like this?" the man asked, leaning slightly backwards. "Heard a lot about ya, mate. Love yer work."

Roadhog said nothing. He contemplated on either throwing the menace through a wall, or actually humoring him. This guy was so stick thin that he could probably snap him clean in half over his knee. But on the other hand, if he had something nice to say about his methods then maybe he could be another paying customer. By the looks of him though, Roadhog wasn't sure if he even had much.

"The silent type, eh? Well, no time fer chatter when ya sendin' a buncha drongos to the grave! Hahahaha!" he cackled with high-pitched laughter. His shrill voice rang through Roadhog's ears, the noise making his eyes twitch a little. He was about to tell him to fuck off, but the guy just kept running his mouth. "Hear me out, here me out, now, I'm sure ye wonderin' why ye oughta bother wit' a scrawny lookin' mate like meself, but when I tell ya my proposition I think you'll like what ya hear." The strange blond stands upwards from leaning against the table, and reaches out an arm for a handshake. "Pleasure ta make yer acquaintance! Th' name's-"

"It's him, guys! It's the motherfucker who found treasure in the destroyed omnium!"

"Junkrat? He's here?"

A crowd of junkers with their guns out and shouting expletives surrounded the two men now, but Junkrat merely rolled his eyes and placed his outstretched arm into his pocket. "Give me a mo'. Y' might wanna stand back, mate."

None of these punks would have been a problem for Roadhog, but as soon as he saw that the skinny twitching fuck had pulled out a grenade, he got up from his seat beer in hand and headed over to the back door of the pub while Junkrat unpinned and flung the grenade into the screaming crowd attempting to scatter. Roadhog stepped outside and continued walking, waiting for the explosion to come. When it did, he noted that the grenade must not have been that powerful if the impact didn't launch him into the air. Now that he was alone again, Roadhog lifted his mask over his mouth and downed the rest of his beer. When the stein was empty, he covered his face once more and flung the mug behind him, unaffected by the sound of glass shattering. It was pretty quiet, and Roadhog wondered if that idiot even survived that stupid stunt he pulled.

Roadhog got his answer when he suddenly heard someone running up behind him and shouting at him. His peaceful night was basically ruined by some punk who didn't know how to mind his own goddamn business, not to mention said punk appeared to have had a record. What did they say his name was? Junkrat? Regardless, why should he humor this asshole?

Yet there he was, pausing to turn around and face the man with a peg leg who was hunched over and gasping for air. When he reached his composure, he leaned back upwards and stretched his arm out again to ask a second time for that handshake.

"Now, about me proposal…"

—-

That was a few years ago, and now the pair went from having a strictly professional partnership to becoming something like friends. A concept, in which, was still incredibly lost on Roadhog. He hadn't had friends or family for such a long time, and he had assumed this bodyguard gig was only going to last about a week. But he stuck with it, and realized down the line that he actually enjoyed Junkrat's company. Along the way, Roadhog let down his tough guy persona just a smidge and told Junkrat jokes that had the smaller man rolling back and forth along the ground in hysterics. The blond was usually the one who did all the talking when dealing with bandits and law enforcement, but Roadhog would find himself replying to his charge with worded responses instead of his signature grunts and growls (and the occasional "shut up"). Junkrat must've noticed the change too, for he was striking up conversations with the large man more often without the fear of being shut down.

Despite everything, Roadhog still kept himself at a distance. As soon as he let his guard slip, he put that emotional wall back up. It's not that he didn't want to get close to his boss; after all he had grown very well accustomed to his unruly mannerisms and shrieking laughter. Roadhog actually _admired_ the fact that Junkrat straight up could give two shits about what anyone thought of him. They both grew up the same way- alone and in the deep Hell of poverty.

No, it was not at all because Roadhog didn't _want_ to.

It was because he _couldn't_.

No matter what he was feeling for his explosive companion, regardless of the secret twitches of a smile creeping behind his pig snout mask, or the nods of approval after Junkrat came up with an elaborate plan to ransack a heavily guarded bank, Roadhog could never bring himself to show his affection in a way that communicated his true emotions.

Mako did, but he's long dead. At least, that's what Roadhog believed.

Roadhog knew that frustrated Junkrat. He could see it in the younger man's face whenever he didn't get the reaction he wanted. It took Roadhog months to even reciprocate a simple high five. The bodyguard had hoped that Junkrat understood that surviving in the radiated Outback meant trusting no one and looking out for yourself. Their 50/50 partnership was only for the money and nothing more. For awhile, it was an understanding that they both upheld without complaint.

But it was clear now that there was something growing between them, and that scared Roadhog shitless.

They were on a cargo ship on the way to the United States. Roadhog's chopper was cloaked by a blanket and settled between the largest containers they could find. Not too far away, Roadhog and Junkrat were sitting on the floor playing a deck of cards. It was how they passed the time for the last few days, but they were getting increasingly restless for some action. The only time they ever traveled to the upper cabins of the boat were to steal food or money.

"How much longer?" Junkrat asked as he pulled a card from the face down deck and placed it into his hand.

"Think the guy I knocked out said one or two more days," Roadhog replied as he studied the pairs in his own hand.

"Ugh."

Junkrat flung his hand of cards in air, and flopped backwards onto the floor. "I'm seconds from blowin' this boat sky high! They don't even have any booze on here! What gives!"

Roadhog calmly placed his cards down and quietly put the deck away, accepting that their game was over as he heard Junkrat roll across the floor and yelling in frustration. That was one of the big differences between the two- Roadhog wasn't in a rush to get things done but Junkrat absolutely hated waiting. Maybe it was because he was young, Roadhog didn't care, but he wished his boss would sit down and shut up for once.

He was about to get up and get ready for bed when he felt Junkrat bump against him. The antsy blond had rolled over to his bodyguard during his whiny fit, but was now quiet. He was on his back, but was staring up at the ceiling of the cargo hold. Roadhog looked down at his employer, and that's when Junkrat spoke again.

"What was your name again?"

Ugh. He forgot again. He always forgets.

"Mako."

"Mako? Mako. Mako Mako Mako Mako Mako. Mako makin'. Mako. Mako means shark, roight? Think someone told me that once. Mako makin' mako? Heh. Mako makin'...bacon. Makin' bacon, now that's a slogan!"

 _Oh my god._

"You're tired, Rat. Get to sleep," Roadhog said as he rose to his feet.

"You can't tell me what to do," Junkrat pouted. "I'm th' one payin' you!"

Roadhog spun around, not putting up with his shit. "You pay me to keep you alive, and if you want to _stay_ alive, you need to go the fuck to sleep."

All they had stashed in Roadhog's bike were a bunch of blankets. They huddled close underneath the covers, Roadhog staying up to keep watch while Junkrat got his rest. Or, at least tried to. Junkrat was still very much awake, his face scrunched in thought. Roadhog wasn't sure what to do in a situation like this; Junkrat was a very hyperactive individual and was always on edge. He felt like if he even tried to try some sort of gesture to pick his brain, Junkrat would react negatively. Frankly, Roadhog couldn't even figure out why he cared about all this.

He suddenly felt both of Junkrat's hands on one of his much larger ones, the mixture of cold metal and warm flesh filling him with a strange tension.

"Can I?"

The quiet sincerity of Junkrat's voice felt out of place, yet oddly welcoming. Roadhog said nothing in response, but Junkrat figured that it wasn't a no. He slowly ran his flesh hand across Roadhog's thick fingers, pausing every now and then to pay extra attention to a scratch or a patch of rough, dry skin. It almost felt like he was studying him, and it made him uneasy. Roadhog closed his hand around Junkrat's metal hand, and the blond's breathing hitched. Did he cross an unspoken boundary? Was his bodyguard going to crush his prosthetic hand? Did he-

Roadhog wasn't applying pressure, but Junkrat was still frozen. They made eye contact, and stared at each other for what seemed like a whole hour. Roadhog was confused. He felt unsure. He wasn't sure if he wanted this to continue. This was weird. This was very weird. This felt weird. This felt.

Good.

Junkrat was still waiting for a cue, a hint, something that would tell him whether or not he should stop and roll over to go to sleep. But Roadhog just couldn't find the words. His head was all over the place, wasn't able to make out any of this or the emotions running through his tired frame. And yet, as if they were on auto-pilot, Roadhog moved his other hand upwards to grab Junkrat's unoccupied hand. Junkrat looked down with a quizzical look, and perhaps a twinge of fear. He was always the most touchy-feely of them both; always jumping on Roadhog's back and asking for a piggy back ride or slapping his bodyguard on the back when he a particularly stellar job keeping him safe. Roadhog had always either left him hanging or motioned for him to fuck off. But now?

Neither of them could make anything of the situation.

Roadhog found himself running his thumbs along Junkrat's much smaller hands. He couldn't make heads or tails of what he was currently feeling, but it felt nice. Quite a bit of a contrast from crushing skulls and punching the hoods of squad cars, that's for certain. Roadhog even contemplated bringing Junkrat's hands closer, but feared he would go for his mask.

Fear. One of the very few emotions Roadhog was still familiar with, but rarely felt. He was always much better at emitting fear than experiencing it. But he was definitely feeling it now.

Before Junkrat could even blink, Roadhog had let go of his hands and quickly shifted onto his other side. Junkrat could do nothing but stare at Roadhog's bare back, and was too tired to protest.

They didn't talk about it in the morning.

—-

Legs crossed outside his ugly yellow sidecar, Junkrat flipped through a celebrity home guide with a flashlight while Roadhog sped through a brightly lit Hollywood. It was the middle of the night, and Roadhog was looking for a safe place for them to hide. He would bring them to a hotel, but the ones around Hollywood were much too flashy for his taste and made them both feel out of place. Not only that, but the diner they had visited that morning had TVs that played a segment from A Moment in Crime that announced that the two ex-Junkers were somewhere in North America.

Roadhog scanned the streets as he drove, and spotted a massive building with numbers painted on the side of the wall. An idea popped in his head.

"The studio lot," he shouted over the engine.

Junkrat flung the guide over his shoulder, and adjusted himself so he was leaning forward. "Ooh, you wanna be in the movies, Roadie?" he laughed. Roadhog just shook his head and slowed down to look for an opening. The entrance to the studio had a guard in a small booth, but the guard appeared to be fast asleep. Driving slowly in front of the bar connected to the guard's booth, Roadhog stepped off his bike and walked over to the bar. With one hand, Roadhog lifted it until it was completely vertical and the path was cleared. Hopping back onto the bike, Roadhog sped through the dimly lit space.

They approached one of the buildings with a convenient garage door, and Roadhog had to step off his bike once more to lift the heavy door and get them both inside. Closing the door behind them, Roadhog shut off his bike and Junkrat hopped out of his sidecar. Roadhog maneuvered the bike to the side of the wall, and Junkrat pulled out their supplies for the night. He picked up the flashlight he had earlier, flicked it on and aimed it around the space. He spotted some movie props hanging around the large room, and snickered at some of the more silly ones.

"Ey, betcha 2% a my cut that I can't climb one a those," Junkrat dared.

"I'm gonna win your entire cut because you'll die," Roadhog replied as he placed the blankets on the floor by a dim spotlight. Junkrat laughed it off and plopped down onto the makeshift bed as soon as Roadhog was done. The other man laid down on his side beside his boss, facing away. "Your turn to stand watch," Roadhog said as he covered himself with one of the blankets. Junkrat folded his arms over his torso, and stared off into the near darkness.

Roadhog was just about to fall asleep when he felt something warm softly collide with his back. Knowing right away what it was, he sighed.

"Get off."

Junkrat huffed, but didn't move his cheek from Roadhog's back. "Different from the night on the boat then, eh?" he muttered.

He just had to bring that up.

"That wasn't anyth-"

"Don't bullshit me, Pig Face! You an' I BOTH know what that was ain't nothin'!"

Roadhog didn't reply, wishing in his head over and over that Rat would let it go and move. If not, Hog was just going to shove him off and sleep on the other side of the room, no matter how dark it was. He couldn't deal with this right now. It appeared that he was getting his wish, as eventually he felt Junkrat move from his back for the other man had rolled over on his own side. The two laid there in silence, the atmosphere incredibly tense. Roadhog knew Junkrat would be pissy about it in the morning, but what mattered now is that he slept. He would attempt to fall asleep again, but the conversation was far from over.

"Whaddya so afraid of, Mako?" Jamison asked softly.

He remembered his name.

 _He remembered his name._

Mako knew he was in too deep.

Jamison certainly wasn't expecting to be rolled on to his back, but before he could make an angry remark he paused when Mako had moved on top of him and grabbed the smaller man's hands. He gently brought Jamie's hands to his mask, and without a drop of hesitation said "pull it off".

"Wha-"

"Slowly."

On one hand, Jamison was happy that he was finally getting some kind of reaction out of the big lug. On the other hand, he was dumbfounded by the fact that Mako had just ask him to _take off his mask_. The past few years they've worked together, Mako never took it off. Didn't even let Jamison watch him lift it over his mouth to eat. But here he was, asking his partner to expose one of his biggest secrets.

With shaky palms, Jamison gulped as he grabbed the bottom of the mask and slowly began pulling it upwards. As the leather mask went, a chin laced with dark blue swirls and lines came into view. Jamison paused to bring his flesh hand down and trace the tattoos with a finger, intrigued by the patterns that symbolized an untold background. His finger lightly bumped against Mako's full lips. An urge built inside of the blond to lean upwards and connect their mouths, but was snapped back into reality when Mako told him to "keep going". Both hands back onto the mask, he resumed lifting it off and caught a glimpse of Mako's large nose. The nostrils were accompanied by a small device that took the appearance of a septum piercing, but he could tell by the miniature filters embedded along the ring that it was for health purposes. When the mask moved just above the forehead, Mako pulled Jamison's hands away. The bodyguard's small eyes stared into Jamison's much wider ones, and with his own hand pulled his mask completely off his head to set it aside.

"Not good with this kinda shit," Mako muttered, his voice less gruff from the lack of being covered. "But wanted you to know I'm serious."

Jamie snorted. "Yer one big galah, ya know that Roadie?"

Mako chuckled at that, and lowered his head to bring their foreheads together. Jamison giggled at the gesture, and tilted his head to plant a kiss on the corner of Mako's mouth. The larger man was taken aback by the display of affection, but it was not at all unwelcome. In fact, it made him feel...at ease.

He was still afraid, but he was now willing to try.


End file.
